LOST: The Untold
by Unclebulgaria5
Summary: This is the story of several background characters and what they are up to during the course of the series, complete with flashbacks, mysteries and even the occasional answer.
1. Introduction

LOST: The Untold is the story of what happened to some of the minor background characters whilst the main characters (Jack, Locke and so on) were having adventures in the jungle. As you will see, the minor characters did just as much exploring and uncovering island secrets as the characters in the TV series. The Untold will follow the TV series very closely and there will be many similarities, with the story being broken down into different parts (roughly equal to a season), and will be comprised of various character-centric chapters, complete with flashbacks (and later, flash forwards).

I've done a lot of research and planning into the story, and I've fleshed out my characters' backstories quite thoroughly, and the fact that I've got some insider knowledge of the show itself doesn't hurt, especially when it comes to the history of the island. So read it and if you like it, please review. Any questions or comments are welcome, and if you notice any continuity errors, please inform me as well.


	2. Chapter 1: Oceanic 815

**Day 1**

**A sudden conglomerate of sounds attacked Justin's ears. **His eyes opened gingerly, slowly, as if they were made of lead. He blinked in rapid succession as he looked directly at the sun, far above him in the robin-egg-blue sky, but the groaned, for even that tiniest movement caused pain to shoot through his body. For a few seconds, his brain was cloudy, and he couldn't seem to make his way through it to reach his memories, to find out where he was, what he was doing there, and even what his name was.

But then the cloud lifted and he remembered his name. Justin Langlow, that was it. Okay, what else? He'd been on a plane, Oceanic 815, travelling from Sydney, Australia, across the Pacific to Los Angeles. Why had he been in Australia? He delved deeper and saw clearly now; he'd been trying to buy a painting off a man, but he had refused. But the main question now was: where was he?

He couldn't concentrate properly. There was a massive whirring sound in the background. People not far off were screaming and shouting. Black smoke was wafting over his field of vision, obscuring the sky. He was lying on his back, that was for sure, on what seemed like something soft – sand, if the tickling on the back of his neck was anything to go by. His entire body was wracked with pain. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, gritting his teeth to stop himself screaming out, and looked down. His clothes were ripped and bloodied. His left arm was badly bruised, and he could feel blood trickling down from a cut on his forehead.

'Just what I need,' Justin muttered to himself, his voice hoarse and dry, as if he had swallowed a lot of sand.

The surrounding sound threatened to swallow him whole. It was pounding his ears and brain like a sledgehammer, everything just meshing together to form one long continuous whirring scream. What was going on? What the hell had happened? Surely he should still be on the plane. Unless…

He looked around, urging his eyes to focus. For a few seconds, he saw a blur of colours, but then it was as if he had found the right settings, and he could see clearly. Yet, for what seemed like an age, his brain refused to comprehend, to process what he was seeing.

The plane – or remains of it – were scattered along the beach he was lying on, looking like it had tumbled out of the jungle to his right and scraped along the sand, with bits and pieces tearing from it and being flung over the beach. The main section of the plane, the fuselage, was sitting about fifty metres away like a beached whale, the front torn off so Justin could see the upside-down seats within, as well as the bodies still strapped to them. One of the wings was still attached, jutting into the sky and wobbling in the breeze, but from the looks of things, neither the front section of the plane, nor the tail section, were present.

Not too far away from the fuselage was one of the plane engines, the turbines still spinning, creating a whirring roar that almost made Justin cover his hands with his ears. It was whipping up sand and spilled clothes and other luggage and sending them spiralling through the air. Other pieces of wreckage had embedded themselves into the sand. One such piece of metal, three metres in diameter, had slammed into the sand not half a metre from where Justin was.

But what was worse than the wreckage itself were the people running around it, looking like flies buzzing around a carcass, screaming and shouting to one another, looking for loved ones and helping injured people out of harm's way. Others sat crying. Yet others still lay motionless on the sand. Unconscious or worse.

Some Chinese guy came running past him, shouting something in a language he didn't understand. A young woman in a pink dress was standing in the centre of the wreckage, tears streaming down her cheeks, screaming something that was inaudible over the incredible noise of the engine. Some large, bumbling guy brushed past him, shouting, 'Karen! Where are you?' over and over again.

This was unreal, Justin thought to himself, as he pulled himself up to his shaky feet and did a three-sixty. It seemed impossible that the plane had crashed here – wherever here was, perhaps Hawaii or some other island in the Pacific – and yet so many people seemed to have survived. Justin reckoned there were a few dozen at least, most with what seemed to be rather superficial injuries. Justin glanced at his own cut in the reflective surface of a piece of metal; it seemed fairly small.

'Walt! Walt!' A black guy came charging past, seemingly unconcerned about where he was going, and Justin was forced to sidestep him to avoid him; he almost tripped over what looked like the dead body of some huge guy with long curly hair, but as he accidentally trod on his head, the guy grunted incomprehensibly and tried to raise his head.

There were too many things happening at once, Justin didn't know where to look. Another black guy, sporting dreadlocks, was observing the scene without an almost too-cool demeanour. An Iraqi guy was dragging injured people away from the spinning turbine.

'Hey! Get over here! Give me a hand!'

Justin turned around and saw some other guy, tall with short hair and wearing a suit, kneeling before a man trapped under what looked like one of the plane tyres. He was beckoning Justin towards him with his hand, indicating frantically that he couldn't lift it by himself.

'Brilliant,' Justin muttered to himself, and jogged over to the trapped man. A jolt of pain shot through his body again, but he forced himself to ignore it.

'You! Come on! Come over here!' the man in the suit shouted, and a bald, middle-aged guy with a cut across his right eye came staggering over, looking like he wasn't entirely steady on his feet yet.

'On the count of three!' the man called out to Justin and the bald guy, and Justin grabbed hold of the tyre. 'One. Two. THREE!'

Justin heaved, feeling his muscles strain. Together, the three of them managed to lift the tyre a couple of inches, and the suit-guy rushed in, grabbed hold of the man's arms and tugged him out. His leg was a bloody, mangled mess. Suit-guy quickly took control, ripping off his own tie and using it as a tourniquet around the man's leg.

'All right, get him out of here!' Suit-guy told the bald, middle-aged guy. 'Get him away from the engine! Get him out of here!'

The bald guy nodded, helped the injured man up and started staggering away with him. Justin turned back to Suit-guy, but he was already running away through the wreckage.

Justin turned around in a full circle. The noises, the screams, they were getting too much for him. He had a headache that made him wince in pain every time he blinked. Some guy in his late thirties, tall and rather imposing-looking, bounded past. Someone else was staggering out of the wreckage, a guy in his twenties, sporting a nasty-looking cut on his forehead and a scowl.

'Hey, you okay?' Justin asked him, noticing he wasn't walking straight.

'Piss off,' the guy growled.

'I was just concerned about a brain haemorrhage, but it might do you some good,' Justin shot back.

Suddenly, there was a huge explosion. Justin whirled around in time to see the spinning turbine of the engine explode in a shower of debris and sand. Justin dived to the floor, as shards of metal rained down upon the already-panicked survivors. Superheated air blasted Justin in the back of the neck, and he was sure he smelled his hairs singeing.

'Hey! Hey, somebody!'

Justin looked up to see who was shouting. It was the black guy he'd seen earlier, the one with dreadlocks. He was bending over someone, pressing on their chest and listening to their breaths. He was looking over his shoulder every now and then at something Justin couldn't see, and shouting for help. He caught Justin's eye as he scrambled to his feet.

'Hey, you!' the guy called out.

'Oh, why can't I just experience a plane crash in peace?' Justin muttered under his breath, but hurried over to the guy. 'What's wrong?' he asked. 'Is he going to be alright?'

'He's not breathing, but I've got it covered,' the black guy responded. 'But there's someone in the water over there, face down.' He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'She's been like that for a while, don't know if she's dead or not. Is there a doctor around?'

'Are you not one? You look like you know what you're doing.'

'I was in the LAPD for three years,' the black guy retorted. 'I learned first aid, nothing more.'

'Dreadlocks, huh? New style for the LAPD?' Justin raised an eyebrow. 'Alright, I'm going,' he added, as the guy turned and looked at him questionably.

He headed down towards the water's edge, jumping over motionless bodies, pieces of wreckage embedded in the sand and opened luggage bags. He waded in up to his mid leg, grabbed hold of the woman who was floating face down in the water and dragged her back to the shore. He turned her over and let her lie in the sand. Her black, waterlogged hair fell over her pale face. She wasn't breathing, Justin noticed.

'Oh, brilliant,' he muttered.

He checked her pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Great, that was a good sign. Now to correct the breathing problem. How did they do it in movies? Push on the chest and breathe in through their mouth? Yeah, something like that. He positioned his hands over her chest and hesitated. Was there a specific place to do it? Under the diaphragm? He couldn't remember.

He glanced around and saw the guy in a suit performing CPR on a black woman. He tried to copy him, pressing down on her chest a few times, taking hold of her nostrils and blowing into her mouth. He checked her breathing – nope, still not there. He did it a few more times, checking each time, but she wasn't doing it by herself.

'Oh, breath, you stupid woman! I'm just wasting energy if you're just going to die on me after all this!' he said angrily.

Almost as if she had heard him, the woman spluttered and coughed up water. Her eyes flashed open and she looked up at Justin, her pupils wide as she drew in deep breaths, her chest convulsing with every one she took.

'Well, you're alive at least,' Justin said. 'Though I'd be dealing with a corpse in a few minutes.'

The woman looked like she was trying to say something, but nothing was coming out, only raspy breaths.

'No need to talk, just breath,' Justin told her. 'I was never a good listener anyway. I'd only zone out.'

Some guy came racing across the sand towards them. He was quite young, with brown hair. 'Hey! You guys! Do you have a pen? I really need a pen!' he yelled anxiously.

'A little inconvenient to be writing in your diary, wouldn't you say?' Justin smirked.

'No, no, it's some woman over there!' the other guy tried to explain breathlessly. 'She's not breathing, so we're, we want to try the pen in the throat thing, you know, where you get the pen and…' He tried to mime it, then shook his hands and added, 'So, do you have a pen then?'

'Yeah, there's one in my office in LA,' Justin replied. 'To get there, just go over the water here – you should hit land eventually – and then find a plane, preferably a more stable one than Oceanic 815 and – '

'Thanks for your help,' the guy said sarcastically, and rushed off.

The woman sat up. She had regained some colour in her face now. She smiled up at Justin. 'Thanks,' she whispered.

'Ah, no problem.' Justin smiled back. 'I was bored and saw you in the water – thought I'd save you.'

'Hey, watch out!' someone screamed.

Justin turned around. The wing of the plane, the one still attached to the fuselage, was starting to fall. The guy with the suit, now accompanied with some big, fat guy and a pregnant girl, were running away from standing in the wing's shadow.

'I'd get down,' Justin advised the woman.

They cowered behind a large piece of metal, and felt, rather than saw, the resultant explosion as the wing crashed into the sand. A huge tyre was flung into the air and rolled across the beach when it landed. Justin stood up and looked around. Everyone was standing still now, staring at the fuselage. Those that had survived the crash seemed to have gotten over the shock – they seemed relieved now. The worst was over, they all seemed to be thinking. Justin very much doubted that was the case.

**A quiet, post-disaster atmosphere had fallen over the survivors of Oceanic 815.** Smoke from the explosions was wafting over the crash site, nullifying whatever noise remained. The survivors seemed to be mostly wandering around, picking through the luggage, trying to find their own; reuniting with loved ones; mourning the dead. Others still were trying out their phones, trying to get a signal, hoping to contact the outside world. They would have no such luck, Peter Thayer knew. The first thing he had done was check his own phone, but he had no signal. Wherever they were, they were far away from any civilisation.

But Peter didn't know whether that was such a bad thing.

Peter knew he was different somehow – 'special', according to his father. He had always been interested in animals and the outside world; that was probably why he became a zoologist when he was older. His father before him had been one, and he had fuelled his dream. He always felt more comfortable, more at home, in the wilderness than in civilisation, trapped in a concrete jungle.

The crash was a horrible thing, he knew. He knew that lives had been lost, that families had been torn apart. But, for the first time in a long while, Peter felt free. It was as if he had left all his problems behind in Australia. He had no need to worry about any of those things anymore. Of course, no on else seemed to be thinking along the same lines as him.

As darkness started to fall, Peter looked around at his fellow survivors. He was used to sitting still in the African bush for hours at end, waiting for animals to appear, so he no problem resting on the sand and observing everyone else around him. In fact, most of the time, he preferred to simply watch that interact with someone.

A pregnant girl was rubbing her bulging stomach down by the water's edge. A guy with long, swept-back hair was smoking a cigarette. A black guy with dreadlocks seemed to be looking for someone amongst the wreckage. A robust, heavily-built guy was handing out food. Some others were building fires, tossing logs into the flames, hoping against hope that a passing plane would spot it. In theory, it should work, Peter knew. If Flight 815 crashed along the usual flight path from Sydney to Los Angeles, then another plane would surely come along shortly. But, all the same, Peter had a strange, niggling feeling in his head. _They won't find it_, it said.

Already, Peter had the feeling that this place was unusual. He couldn't quite place it, but he had been to many wild areas around the world in his life, and none of them quite compared to this. It felt mysterious in a way he couldn't explain, yet he was strangely drawn to it. Everyone else was too busy flitting around to notice it.

Actually, no. Someone else seemed to have noticed it. There was some guy further along the beach. He was middle-aged, bald, and with a strange look in his eye as he sat, as still as a statue, staring out at the ocean.

'You want any food?'

Peter looked up. It was the big guy who was handing out food. His name was Hurley or something.

'I'm fine,' Peter replied.

'You've, er, been fairly quiet since we got here,' Hurley said, studying him carefully. 'I mean, are you alright and everything?'

'I'm just contemplating,' Peter said.

'Yeah, well, contemplating isn't going to feed you,' Hurley muttered. 'But, if you're sure…' He lumbered away.

Peter turned back to look out at the ocean. He remembered this place. He had seen it in a dream – no, a vision. His father had always said he was 'special'. He had believed his visions, as he called them, were a gift, that he would help a lot of people. At the time, Peter had dismissed it, he had believed them to be nothing more than strange dreams. But the resemblance was uncanny. He had felt a connection to the place in his dreams, and now he felt a similar connection.

He was free.

**As darkness fell, fires started to spring up, fuelled by wood gathered by the Iraqi guy. Justin wandered through the wreckage.** In the night, the sight of the fuselage, looking very much liked a beached whale, was almost creepy, especially since he knew there were dozens of dead bodies inside it. Eventually, they would have to take care of that, but it wasn't Justin's problem – let someone else deal with it, he thought, he had no intention of being a leader.

Understandably, everyone had moved as far away from the fuselage as they could, crowding around fires and whispering in twos or threes, occasionally looking out across the ocean or up at the sky as if hoping rescue would miraculously appear. Others were trying out phones, but with no success, and others still were pacing up and down impatiently.

Forty-odd people seemed to have survived the crash. Justin was no expert about plane stability or even how fast they had been going when they had plummeted (he had been knocked out during the turbulence), but he had seen enough plane crash stories at work to know that an unusually high number of people had survived. It was made even stranger because of the fact that it seemed to have been a particularly violent crash. For one, the wreckage was strewn all over the beach and surrounding jungle, and for another, the tail section and front section were missing. The woman who Justin had resuscitated (who was called Haley) said she had said the tail section rip apart when they were still underwater, and the front section had come lose as they were over the island itself.

Justin didn't care that much for strangers, and now he was surrounded by dozens of them, each with their own stories and agendas. Suit-guy, who was called Jack, was already being hailed a 'hero' by some for his efforts during the crash. He was a pathological fixer, Justin could tell, he existed only to make things better and do the right thing. He was sitting on the sand, and had been joined by a woman with brown wavy hair.

Nearby, a Chinese couple were huddled together, speaking to each other in a language Justin couldn't understand. Neither of them seemed to be looking each other in the eye. The marriage that was falling apart, Justin thought with a barely-concealed grin.

Some black guy with dreadlocks, the police officer Justin had briefly spoken to before, was standing over everyone, looking around. He was pretending he had power, pretending he had everything under control, putting on the 'cool face'. But, in reality, he was obviously just as scared and disorientated and alone as everyone else.

The guy who had told him to piss off earlier was standing by himself, leaning against some wreckage. He had short brown hair and a permanent scowl. Trying to seem like he didn't want attention, that he wanted to be left alone, but the truth was, he wanted attention more than anyone.

Then, of course, were the anomalies that Justin couldn't read. Two guys were sitting on the sand by themselves, a middle-aged, bald guy, close to the ocean, and a younger guy, taller with an unkempt beard, was sitting closer to the tree line. Both seemed lost in thought, perhaps contemplating their current situation. But Justin knew the quiet loners were always the ones to watch out for the most…

'Hey, I got some food for you.' It was Haley. She had raced off after that fat guy to grab something to eat, and had returned with what looked like a poorly-wrapped, crushed (and probably sand-filled) sandwich.

'Thanks.' Justin took it and hastily tucked in; his last meal had been at Sydney Airport several hours before.

'Poor guy.'

Justin followed Haley's gaze. She was looking at some guy he had glimpsed earlier. He was fairly large, perhaps in his late thirties, wearing glasses and stumbling around the crash site, calling out for someone.

'Think he's looking for his wife,' Haley said.

Justin could hear him now, shouting, 'Karen! Karen!' over and over again. Several people were looking at him sympathetically, but no one was making any attempt to comfort him. Justin could see why. They were all strangers here; it would just be awkward.

'Look, there's a dead jellyfish over there,' Justin said, hoping to change the subject and pull the two of them away from the poor guy, but he had already seen them and came over, looking superbly out of place, as if his body just didn't suit walking.

'Have you seen, er, a woman with blonde hair, thin, early thirties?' the man asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. 'She's, er, got a tattoo on her shoulder. Her name's Karen.'

'We heard,' Justin said brusquely.

'No, we haven't,' Haley answered quickly, perhaps feeling that Justin's comment wouldn't be amazingly sensitive. 'Have you checked everywhere? I mean, the fuselage is…' She stopped herself, and suddenly became interested in a small rock to avoid looking at the man's eyes, which were brimming with tears.

'I've checked the fuselage, but she's not there,' the man replied. 'But, I mean, if she were dead, I'd find her, right? But I can't even find her body everywhere. That's a good sign, right? Means she's alive somewhere.'

'Unless her body fell out over the jungle,' Justin said.

'Well, I mean, she was in the front section of the plane…' the guy said quietly, lowering his head. 'We were both there, but I needed the toilet, and the one nearest was occupied or something – some stewards were banging on the, er, the door. So I, er, found another one, and then the plane, it split apart and then…' The guy stopped talking. Justin was glad; he sounded awkward even when he was just speaking.

Haley shrugged. 'She might be alive then, I guess.' She glanced towards Justin as the guy turned his head towards the jungle, and he saw her expression – she didn't believe what she said.

'You think the cockpit's in there then?' the man asked, pointing towards the dark jungle.

'Er, yeah, but we shouldn't go in now,' Haley said quickly ('We?' Justin muttered). 'Too dark. We might fall down a hole or something, and we'd probably get lost.'

'Yeah, but what if she's alive and scared and trying to find me?' the man asked, clearly getting worked up, pushing his glasses up again. 'I'm her husband – I should be looking after her, she shouldn't be wandering around in some dark jungle on her own; I mean, it's my fault that we were in Australia to begin with… Well, I mean, I didn't drag her along, but she wanted to come, and if I hadn't come in the first place…' The guy was basically mumbling to himself now.

'Hey, it's okay, it's okay.' Haley put an arm on the guy's shoulder. 'I'm sure she'll be fine. What's your name anyway?'

'It's, er, Colin. Colin Bishop.'

'I'm Haley and this is – '

'Mister Ed,' Justin supplied.

' – Justin,' Haley finished. She shot Justin a look. 'Come on, let's get you sat down,' she said to Colin, and started to direct him towards the nearest campfire.

Some girl wandered into their path, looking confused. She was only young, maybe in her early twenties at the oldest, with brown hair and red-rimmed eyes. Justin sighed – another problem to content with.

'Lost your dog?' he asked sarcastically.

'I, er, no.' The girl looked dazed and glanced at them with unfocused eyes. She had an Australian accent. 'Do I know you?'

'I doubt that,' Justin said.

'I don't understand,' the girl muttered. 'Where are we? Did this plane crash or something?'

'The Nobel Prize awaits, sweetheart.' What was wrong with her? Did the crash mess up her brain. It couldn't take a genius to figure out what had happened here.

The girl swallowed and looked like she might cry. 'I… I don't remember anything before the crash,' she uttered quietly. 'I don't know why I was on the plane in the first place.' She paused and then said, ' I don't even know my own name.'

Justin felt a chill go up his spine. He glanced at Haley. Her eyes were wide. Colin was in too much of a state to hear what was going on.

'Er, maybe you have amnesia,' Haley said. She glanced around. 'Maybe we should find that doctor – he should be able to sort this out…'

But their search to find Jack did not last long. A horrible sound suddenly rent the air. Justin nearly jumped out of his skin. It was a horrible, metal-on-metal creaking sound, followed by what seemed like a quasi-growling noise, coming from the jungle. Everyone was on their feet immediately and looking towards the centre of the island.

'Is that Vincent?' some black kid asked hopefully.

'It's not Vincent,' a man muttered, presumably his father.

Jack pushed past everyone to be at the front, followed by the woman with brown hair and some guy with a hood called Charles or Charlie; the black guy with dreadlocks rushed forward as well; some guy smoking a cigarette and with long hair narrowed his eyes as he looked towards the interior of the island as the sound came again; the younger guy who had asked for a pen earlier was stopping a blonde-haired woman from getting too close to the treeline.

Suddenly, the noise came again, followed by the noise of a tree crashing to the ground, followed by another and another. Birds flocked from the jungle into the night sky. Bushes were moving in the centre of the island, just below the mountains.

'Did anyone see that?' the pregnant girl asked shrilly.

'No, I was napping,' Justin said sarcastically.

Other people had arrived, all looking scared and confused. Colin's eyes were wide behind his glasses; the guy with a scowl had temporarily lost it, allowing Justin to see his good-looking, arrogant face; the guy with the beard was more confused than scared, and the face of the middle-aged, bald man was unfathomable and expressionless.

The metallic screeching came again, and Justin heard more trees being felled. There came a sound like cogs or gears grinding, and then all was silent again. The only sound was the wind rustling over the trees.

'Terrific,' Charlie muttered.


	3. Chapter 2: Strangers

**Day 2**

**The sun rose on forty-eight survivors of Oceanic 815. **James Hudson was amongst the first to rise. As he glanced around the crash site, he saw people huddled, asleep, beneath salvaged pieces of tarp, metal overhangs, or just stretched out on the sand. Many people had barely slept the previous night, with the sole topic being whatever the hell that thing was in the jungle. People had come up with various suggestions: a dinosaur, some escaped experiment, even an earthquake. Whatever it was, it wasn't normal, that's all James knew for sure.

He wasn't an easy person to scare. After spending a few years in the force and then a bodyguard after that, he had dealt with criminals, armed gangs, and even bombs. He could deal with things like that. But whatever was lurking in the jungle terrified him at a level that he had never experienced before. It was the unknown, and that scared him more than anything.

He stroked his chin and sighed. Stubble. He'd be getting a full-on beard if he didn't shave within a few days, and he suspected that razors, shaving cream and mirrors weren't exactly easy to obtain. His hair was a mess as well. Ever since he had quit his bodyguard job, he had decided to grow his hair like in high school. It was either dreadlocks or the afro, and James had never cared much for an afro.

By now, people had started to stir. Breakfast was brief and small, with the big guy passing around whatever morsels hadn't been finished off the night before. No one had thought of rationing; everyone assumed that rescue would be here within hours. James knew that that was not how the world worked. The outside world needed to know for sure where they were before they had the slightest chance of finding them…

But a mission to solve that problem was underway. The doctor, Jack, had told him last night that he was planning on heading into the jungle to find the cockpit, and hopefully the transceiver along with it. Normally, James would have insisted on going along with them, but he had other things he needed to be sorting out…

He walked along the beach, behind the fuselage, looking behind him to check that no one was looking, and ducked through the jagged opening into the fuselage itself. Dead bodies littered the floor and hung from upside down seats, their limbs limp and their skin pale and glassy. But there was at least one person in her who wasn't dead. And now, James saw, he was starting to regain consciousness.

A man on the floor, half-hidden under some tarp that James had placed over him the night before, was waking up. He had a nasty cut on his forehead, and was covered in bruises.

'About time you woke up, Scott,' James said.

The man almost jumped. He turned to look at James and his eyes narrowed. 'What happened?' he croaked.

'Plane crash,' James explained. 'Plane broke apart in mid-air and we landed on some island in the middle of the ocean.'

Scott looked surprised. 'An island?' he asked.

'Yeah. Plus, there's something weird roaming around in the jungle,' he went on. 'Didn't sound normal, that's for sure. Knocking trees down and making weird noises.'

'Is that so?' Scott's expression was unreadable now.

'So, are you ready to answer my questions yet?' James asked. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was going to interrupt him, especially the doctor, who would insist on checking Scott over.

'Questions?' Scott looked mildly surprised. He started to sit up, but James placed a foot on his chest to keep him down.

'Oh no, you're going to stay there until you've told me all that I want to know,' James said darkly. 'And don't even think about calling for help. Besides, I think your throat is too sore for all that from the sounds of it.'

Scott chuckled and lay back down without a fuss. 'Well, looks like you've got me,' he said in mock defeat. 'What is it you want to know, Hudson?'

'Who's Ben?' he asked instantly.

Scott shrugged. 'Plenty of people are called Ben,' he offered. 'I had an uncle called Ben – '

James reached down and grabbed his collar. 'Don't play games with me, Scott!' he growled. 'You mentioned some guy named Ben in Australia, and _she _said his name as well.'

For the first time, Scott looked genuinely surprised. 'She's alive, is she?' he asked, no longer smiling.

'Oh yes, and she told me where to find you,' James said with more than just a trace of smugness in his voice. 'Looks like your people didn't do such a good job of cleaning up after themselves, did they?'

'Do you love her?' Scott asked suddenly.

'I – what?' James realised he was caught off-guard and regained his composure. 'That's nothing to do with what we're talking about now – '

'Oh, but it does. I loved her at one point, if you recall, James,' Scott reminded him coldly, 'until you stole her away from me. Do you think it was easy for me to hear that she was going to be killed? No, of course not. Am I relieved she's still alive. Yes, of course I am. But, I mean, it makes sense. We weren't the only people who ever loved her. Matthew always had a soft spot for her as well…'

'You may not have wanted to kill her, but you obviously didn't have an qualms about killing me. I presume that's why you were on the plane as well? To follow me and kill me?' James increased the pressure on Scott's chest so he had trouble breathing.

'Yes, I was told to clean up my mess,' Scott spluttered. 'They said you were a liability, that if you ever told anyone what you know – '

'But I don't know anything!' James shouted. 'Wow, I know about some random guy named Ben. I don't know what he looks like, where he lives, what his last name is. Like you said, there are a lot of Bens. You'd have me killed over that.'

'That's not important,' Scott said dismissively.

'Oh, so this is all about that stupid pain – ' James began, but there was movement behind him.

'What's going on?' It was a suspicious-sounding Jack.

James turned around. 'I was just looking for some aspirin and I found this guy in here,' he lied. 'I thought everyone was dead, but obviously not. You should probably take a look at him – he looks like he's got a few nasty cuts and bruises.'

Jack nodded and moved closer so he could examine him. 'What were you saying to him. I heard voices.'

'Just finding out his name,' James said casually. He glanced down at Scott, who reciprocated with a smug grin.

'Oh yeah? What is it?' Jack asked, as he removed a small pen torch and started shining them into Scott's eyes.

'Er, Scott, yeah, that's it,' James said. 'Scott Jackson, I think.' He stood in silence as Jack tested Scott's bones and shone the torch in his eyes again. 'I think I'll go now,' James said quietly. 'Leave you to do your job and all.'

He headed outside and cursed.

'**You're going to the, er, the cockpit, aren't you?' Colin asked breathlessly, holding his side to cease the stitch that had suddenly appeared from his bout of running. **Jack, Kate and the other guy, whatever his name was, turned around in mild surprise.

'Er, yeah, we are,' Jack replied, looking down at Colin in some concern as he continued to try and catch his breath. 'Yeah, we're hoping to find a transceiver – it'll make it much easier for them to find us if we can send out a signal using it.'

'Can I come?' Colin asked.

Jack and Kate exchanged surprised looks. The other guy barely concealed a smile as he glanced at Colin, still breathing heavily and pushing his glasses up his nose, judging his shape.

'No, we've got enough as it is already,' Jack said slowly. 'Anymore will just slow us down. And you heard that thing last night. No point endangering more people than necessary.'

'Did he just say 'endangering'?' the other guy asked nervously, and gulped.

'But I need to go,' Colin insisted, feeling his face go red. 'My, er, my wife might be there, and I need to see if she's still alive.'

'We'll check for any survivors, don't worry,' Jack soothed. 'Now, you should take a rest until we get back.'

They started to walk away. Colin watched them go. He had been excluded all his life. People had looked at him slightly different when he became the CEO of an international company, and started earning millions, but they usually just assumed he was a 'loser who got lucky'. But Karen had thought differently; she had seen past his faults and loved him anyway. The only other person who had done that was his brother, and he was dead.

No, he couldn't let Karen die as well. They hadn't been married long, only about four months. He had given up his goal for her, would do anything for her. And something told him, something deep down inside him said that Karen wasn't dead, that she needed his help.

He turned around, panting and sweating from the midair sun, and scanned the beach. He spotted the two people he'd spoken to the day before. Justin was sarcastic, but Haley was kind; she would help him. He bounded over to where they were examining some luggage.

'Hey guys,' Colin greeted.

'Oh, hi Colin,' Haley said, standing up' Justin followed suit, looking wary. 'Are you okay?'

'I need to find the cockpit,' he said quickly. 'I know my wife is there, I can feel it. I asked the doctor, but he said too many people were going already, but I knew he was thinking I was out of shape or something.' Colin could see that Justin was about to open his mouth and say something, so Colin plunged on, 'So, I'd, er, I'd appreciate it if you came with me and helped me find it. I mean, I saw the smoke yesterday, so I know roughly where it is, but, er, I have a poor sense of direction, so…'

'Yeah, we'll help you, don't worry.' Haley gave Colin a smile. 'We can go through this luggage later on. Justin, are you coming?'

'My options are limited, I sense,' Justin muttered.

'Good. We should stock up on some bottles of water, maybe a few scraps of food,' Haley decided, taking charge. She seemed to have quite a decisive streak, and Colin noticed her mind seemed to think quickly and come up with a solution. 'That also means backpacks and maybe torches in case it gets cold. We'll meet back here in ten minutes.'

Colin bustled around the wreckage, found the water supply and took a few small bottles ('On the all-water diet, are we?' some guy with a southern drawl smirked) and found Haley and Justin again. They set off into the jungle, trudging through dense vegetation and arched roots that threatened to trip them up with every step. The humidity was unrivalled; Colin was sweating profusely within seconds, and after ten minutes, his shirt was drenched and sticking to his body. He was glad when the jungle ended and they came across a large grassy mesa, which sloped upwards into the centre of the island. Colin told Justin where he had seen the column of smoke the previous night, and Justin led the way, with Haley behind him, and Colin taking the rear, panting and puffing.

As they reached the top of the mesa, Colin looked back. It was a beautiful sight, and if he hadn't been so anxious to find his wife, he would had stopped to admire it. Ridged on either sides by mountains, he could look down the slope, past the strip of jungle and onto the beach, where the pieces of wreckage could just be seen. Beyond that, the ocean sparkled majestically, as far as he could see.

'Beautiful, isn't it?' Colin murmured.

'I know.' Haley had also stopped to look. 'I like heading out into the wilderness and admiring the view when I need inspiration. Clears the mind, makes you more focused.'

'Inspiration? Are you, er, an artist?' Colin asked.

'No, an author,' Haley replied. 'Mysteries mainly. I could probably write a best-seller about this place.' She laughed, then turned back to Colin. 'What do you do then?'

'I used to be the CEO of an international company,' Colin replied, 'but then I sold it to become a parapsychologist.'

Haley laughed, obviously thinking Colin was joking, then quickly stopped and looked purposefully away. Colin didn't mind; he always got that reaction when he told them what he did. Everyone assumed he was mad for experimenting with ESP and astral projection. But no one had understood, he had needed to do it…

Colin decided to change the subject, since Haley was still not looking him in the eye. 'It's weird, don't you think?' he asked. 'I mean, we're all strangers here, yet we're helping each other, we're, er, we're trusting each other.'

'We need to,' Haley said flatly. 'We wouldn't survive otherwise. I mean, even _he _– ' She jerked her finger towards Justin, who had stopped farther on and was tapping his watch impatiently. ' – needs other people, even if he claims he doesn't.'

'It's just that, no one ever really helps me,' Colin said quietly. 'To be honest, I'm surprised you even agreed to come with me to help find my wife. I mean, you don't, er, get anything out of it, do you? You're a kind person.'

Haley seemed to be struggling with something. She lowered her head. 'See, to be honest, I'm not as angelic as you'd believe,' she said quietly. 'I didn't come with you just to help.'

Colin was surprised. 'What? Why not?'

'You're looking for someone, aren't you?' Haley said. 'Truth is, I'm looking for someone too.'

**Kevin Ryman surveyed the collection of pitiful survivors of Oceanic 815. **It was sad, watching them flit around, helping each other, worried about the dead, putting all their food in one place, hoping to ration it. They were missing the point, they hadn't gotten their priorities right. It was survival of the fittest, nature had always abided by that law, and altruism had never got any other species anywhere.

But then, what did he know? What did he know about what was right and wrong? He had always believed that what was 'right' was simply subjective, that morals could be broken without too much guilt. But who knew anymore? Who knew what was right or wrong? However, he had always looked after himself first and foremost – that was the most important, it was how nature had intending individuals to think. To start worrying about others before yourself… well, that just led to complications, that's when emotions started to get in the way, and that, in Kevin's opinion, should never happen.

He stood leaning against a piece of wreckage. He had no time for the other people, no need to mingle or socialise or even ask for help. They wouldn't help a criminal anyway. As soon as they learned he had been in jail, they would segregate him. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of doing that.

Some kids came wandering over. They were in their early twenties by the looks of things, a guy with brown hair and a thin girl with blonde hair. They were arguing loudly. Kevin scowled at them.

'Gee, I don't know, Boone,' the girl was saying nastily, 'I guess I'd rather sunbathe rather than sniff around dead bodies. I don't even know why you're so bothered, the rescue boat will be here soon.'

'I've told you before, that all depends on whether Jack can find the transceiver or not,' the guy named Boone was saying exasperatedly. 'In the meantime, we might as well sort out all of the things we can use.'

'You're only doing this because you want to be the hero!' the woman sneered.

'You want to keep it down!' Kevin shouted, as Boone and the woman came even closer. 'I don't want some stupid kids making my day as bad as it already is.'

'Well, I'm sorry,' the woman said sarcastically. 'I didn't know being stranded on a desert island with no showers or food could actually get any worse – '

'Er, sorry about my sister,' Boone quickly intervened. 'We'll try and leave you alone in future, mister.'

They hurried away, Boone's sister looking over his shoulder with narrowed eyes as she went, and Boone tugging on her arm – clearly she wanted to stay for a shouting match. Let her come if she wanted, Kevin sneered, she was already on his list.

If being in organised crime had taught him anything, it was that power was everything. The gangs were led by someone, but even they answered to someone else; they were nothing more than subgroups of an organisation. The head of the organisation held all the power – whatever he said happened, and usually in a timely fashion. Power made inferior people scared, which meant they were more likely to listen. It was how society worked: the less powerful were ruled by the more powerful.

Kevin had been through a lot. He had been down some dark paths, darker than most, and had even tried going straight at one point, but he had never been anything more than an underling, someone who accepted ordered without question. The one time he had questioned orders, he had paid the consequences.

Everyone was thinking about this all wrong. They were so intent on rescue that they didn't realise that they needed a leader, needed someone to tell them what to do. Sure, the doctor, whatever his name was, he seemed to be in everyone's good books, but his emotions would get in the way, he didn't understand the 'greater good'.

It was survival of the fittest. And he was good at surviving.

**The rain had come. **One second they had been trudging up the mesa under a perfectly blue sky, the next second clouds had appeared and it was raining. But this was not rain Haley was used to; this was torrential, drenched-to-the-bone-in-seconds rain. It came down like a sheet, and all of a sudden, they could barely see where they were going. Justin was maybe less than two metres away as they slid over the mud, but she could only just see him. Colin was in even a worse state; every few seconds he was forced to remove his glasses and give them a wipe, but they were soaked even before he had put them back on his face.

They veered off the mesa into the jungle again. Not as much rain reached them as out in the open, but it was still extremely wet. Haley could see Justin's mouth opening and closing – no doubt moaning – but she couldn't tell what he was saying.

Justin certainly was an odd person. Haley didn't quite know what to think of him. Half the time, he seemed like a nice guy, maybe a bit rough around the edges, but pleasant. But then he came out with an insensitive thing, or something inappropriate. She was sure he didn't actually believe what he was saying, but it was just his bitter attitude shining through.

Colin was a much easier guy to read. He was worried about his wife and that was pretty much it. He seemed pretty awkward with everything he did, as if he were new to using his body.

As for her… who knew how other people perceived her? She herself knew she was a complex character, perhaps even morally ambiguous. The things she thought were wrong one day, she thought were right the next. Half the time, she didn't know how she perceived herself. All that she knew was that others seemed to have a half opinion of her that she knew she didn't deserve. Colin himself had simply assumed she had come along to help him out of the goodness of her heart. If only that were the truth…

In reality, if Colin hadn't wanted to find the cockpit, Haley would have gone in search of it anyway. She had searched the entire crash site, including the fuselage, but had seen no sign of him. She knew he had boarded the plane, but didn't know where he had been sitting. She was hoping it had been the front section…

'Looks like we're here!' she heard Justin shout from ahead.

Through the rain came the cockpit, lying on its side on the ground, a gaping hole where it had been ripped from the rest of the plane. Haley felt her heart beat faster, half-expecting to see him through the gap.

'Footprints,' Justin mused, studying the saturated ground. 'Three sets of them. Looks like Jack and co. got here and left.'

'Maybe he, er, I don't know, found some survivors and took them back to the beach,' Colin said hopefully.

'No other tracks,' Justin replied flatly.

Haley became aware that she was so drenched, her clothes felt like part of her body now. 'At least let's get inside,' she suggested. 'We can see if there's anyone there – Jack was looking for that transceiver things so he might have missed someone.'

But as they moved into the dark interior and started checking the passengers, they soon realised they had not. Everyone here was dead. Haley became more and more desparate as they moved down the front section towards the cockpit itself, where the pilot and co-pilot would be seated. Colin looked close to tears as he inspected every person carefully, turning them over to see if his wife was amongst them. Obviously she wasn't, for he continued looking.

But neither was Gary, which puzzled Haley. Where could he be? She didn't even know why she wanted to find him so much – it wasn't like they were in a relationship or anything (well, not anymore at least) and they weren't even that close – but she wanted to find him, and maybe apologise for him ending up on Oceanic 815.

'Where do you reckon everyone is?' Colin asked suddenly. 'I mean, there are quite a few, er, empty seats around. Look, see that seat there?' He pointed. 'I remember there being some guy there, he had a beard and he was speaking Russian to someone else. He's not there anymore. Neither is the guy that was next to him.'

'Where was your wife sitting?' Haley asked.

'There.' Colin indicated to an empty seat. 'She's gone. I figured she might have fallen out of her seat… but I can't see her anywhere.'

'Hmm.' Haley looked around, trying to make sense of it all. Several people were missing, including Colin's wife, yet only three sets of footprints had been seen leaving the cockpit. 'Maybe they left yesterday,' she suggested. 'I mean, the rain would have washed away their footprints. They could have tried to find other survivors, but got lost in the jungle.'

'Or maybe,' Justin said, reappearing from through a door he had ducked through, 'they ended up the same way as the pilot.'

Haley and Colin exchanged glances, then followed Justin through the door and into the cockpit. The first thing Haley saw was the blood-stained window, which had been smashed. Blood was dripping from the jagged opening onto the chair. The co-pilot was lying motionless in his seat; the pilot was conspicuous only by his absence.

'What happened?' Haley asked, horror-struck.

'I'm guessing that thing we heard last night came to pay the pilot a visit as well,' Justin said darkly. 'Has to be his blood – there would have been nobody else in the cockpit.'

Colin swallowed. 'So… so my wife – ?'

'I'm sure she's fine,' Haley said quickly. 'I mean, we didn't see any blood in the cabin, did we?'

To be perfectly honest, she wasn't sure if she had convinced herself. Just because that… that monster or whatever it was hadn't kill them here in the front section didn't mean it couldn't kill them when they were wandering around in the jungle. Nobody had found what they had come here looking for, and Haley had to admit, she almost felt relieved that he hadn't been here. Maybe it was time for a fresh start…

**As the rain continued to pour, noises emerged from the jungle again. **The same metallic screeching, gear-grinding, roaring sound they had heard the night before. Trees were once again felled, but after a while, the noises stopped and everyone who had remained silent and motionless whilst they had been listening intently returned to quiet, nervous chatter.

Most people had sought shelter under pieces of wreckage or tarp. As the rain intensified, some even crowded into the fuselage, which must be smelling quite bad by now, Peter theorised. But there was one person who seemed unperturbed by the rain, and was sitting out on the beach, his arms open wide, embracing it.

When the rain finally decided to stop, Peter left the piece of metal he had been sitting under and went over to the man. He was middle-aged and bald, and had a scar running down his right cheek.

'You'll get pneumonia,' Peter smiled.

The man looked up. He, too, smiled. 'It would be a fair exchange,' he said mysteriously. He stood up and held out a hand for Peter to shake. 'Hi, I'm John. John Locke.'

'Peter Thayer.'

John studied Peter. 'You're not like most of the others,' he observed. 'You seem much more calm, less frantic. You don't seem disturbed by all of this. Why's that?'

'I could ask you the same question,' Peter retorted.

'Let's just say I'm a lot happier than I've been in a long time,' John Locke said with another mysterious smile. 'Tell me, Peter, do you believe in destiny?'

'The idea that we're destined to live our life in one way?' Peter asked. 'Yes, I think I do. I never used to. I used to think we could just live our lives the way we could – that we weren't part of a grander scheme.'

'So what changed your mind?'

'I was told I was special,' Peter replied. 'I was told that I could make a difference, that I could help a lot of people. And I started to think outside the box. I started to question my beliefs. What if we had a predetermined route in life? And if that's so, then we were meant to crash here, that we were meant to have this conversation.'

John smiled. 'I couldn't agree more. I was told that I was special once. But I think this island made me special.'

'So you believe you have a path that you must take?' Peter questioned.

'I do.'

'How do you find this path? Where will it lead?'

John smiled even wider. 'The island will tell you when you are ready. You'll find your path, Peter.'

**Justin was glad the rain had stopped. **He feared his shirt might disintegrate with anymore prolonged exposure to water. They were heading back to the beach, following the path they had taken to get there. Once again, he was out in front, clearing branches from the path so the absent-minded Colin Bishop, who was behind him, wouldn't walk into them as he frequently did. Haley was right at the back, seemingly deep in thought.

'Thanks for coming along to help me,' Colin piped up from behind him. He sounded stronger than before.

'No problem,' Justin muttered.

'I'm sure she's fine, though,' Colin continued. 'I mean, like Haley said, she probably went wandering off into the jungle, but she'll find her way to the beach when she sees the fires, right? She might even be back there now, waiting for me.'

_Wishful thinking_, Justin thought. Instead, he just muttered, 'Yeah. Maybe.' He turned to look at Colin, who had beads of sweat pouring down his head. 'How long you two been married then?'

'Only four months,' Colin replied. 'We took our honeymoon in Zanzibar. How about you? Do you, er, have a wife?'

'I did.'

'Oh. That's a shame.'

'Yeah.' Justin didn't really want to talk about it. 'You should probably see what's taking Haley so long.'

'Oh. Right. Okay.' Colin turned and headed back into the bushes to where Haley was, about ten metres behind.

Justin exhaled heavily and glanced around as he was waiting for them. Something shiny caught his eye on the ground. Puzzled, he bent down and picked it up. It was a digital camera, fairly modern-looking. Who's was this? Had it fallen out of the plane or something?

He clicked a button at the top and it began powering up. The screen lit up, revealing some options. It was a touch-screen camera, and although it was covered in dirt and grass, it still worked. He pressed the screen where it said, 'Photos', and a large photo album came up. A few of them, Justin could see, were of people, others of scenery. He scrolled down until a particular picture caught his eye. Squinting at the miniaturised man on the photo, he frowned and clicked on it to enlarge it. A larger copy popped up.

Justin's eyes widened. His heart almost stopped. Impossible!

'No, it can't be,' he whispered.


End file.
